Heavy Rain
by Steampunkd7
Summary: The sky is dark. Heavy rain is falling. And England is on his knees in the mud. But the time is WWII.


Heavy Rain

The sky is dark. Heavy rain is falling. And England is on his knees in the mud.

A pair of cold blue eyes stare at him with something between disgust and pity, and maybe a little bit of apprehension, like he's not sure that this is what he really wants to be doing. But it's not like he really has a choice. He's acting on his boss's orders. So even though England is pretty sure that at his core there is good in Germany, he knows that it won't stop him from delivering the final blow.

England knows it's cold, frigid even, but now he's mostly numb. He can only just feel the rain dripping down his back and mixing with his sweat. He's exhausted from the months and months of fighting and bombings and watching his allies fall one by one, taking his hopes for survival with them. Now it's just him left, and there's no hope anymore. There's nothing to do but fall like all the others. Deep down, he knows this day has been a long time in coming. Once upon a time he stood where Germany is standing now, a conquering empire, ruthlessly bringing all those who opposed him to their knees. But like everything else, those times are gone, and all his colonies with them.

Of course the mere memory of his colonies calls back to mind another time when rain was falling from the sky by the bucketful, and England was on his knees in the mud, crying and thinking that the sun would never come out again.

America's eyes are bluer than Germany's, brighter, and warm like a summer sky, so even though so many other things about this scene are similar to that other dark day, there's no way England can pretend that the last thing he'll see in this world are the eyes of someone he once cared about, the eyes of someone who once cared about him, not that it would have been much of a comfort anyway, because like everything else, that has all passed.

Still, he keeps his eyes open when Germany raises his rifle, because if the damn Nazi is enough of a bastard to shoot a man on his knees then England would make damn sure he has to look him in the eyes while he does it.

That is why he sees the cow when it is thrown into Germany, striking him with all the strength and speed of a mack truck.

At first England can only stare dumbfounded, as Germany goes reeling like a windmill blown skyhigh, finally ending up in a tangled pile of broken beef limbs, with maybe a broken human limb or two thrown in, and an extra serving of mud on the side. Germany's eyes bulge in pain and confusion as he tries to make sense of what has just happened.

Then a voice floats out of the gloom and makes sense of everything.

_"Get away from my brother."_

The words are softly spoken, but impossible to miss. It's almost as if the downpour of rain has been muted so that every single menace-filled syllable is crystal clear.

Then _he_ appears, at first just a dark silhouette in the mist that hangs in the air, but as he draws closer he becomes clearer. A tall form. Broad shoulders. Disheveled hair and glinting glasses. His usual carefree smile is nowhere to be seen, replaced by an expression so intense that had England not already recognized him by his voice he might not have recognized this furious man at all.

_When did he get so big?_ England wonders as America strides forward with deadly purpose, because Germany, still in a heap in the mud, doesn't obey his order fast enough.

"I said _get away from my brother_," America breathes, his eyes burning like two blue flames as he proceeds to haul his hapless enemy off the ground by his collar and punch him, putting every ounce of his considerable strength into the blow.

Germany's collar rips. German himself goes flying through the mist, into the darkness, and out of sight. Several seconds later they hear a sound halfway between a thud and a splat, from quite a ways off. England swears he hears the snap of more bones breaking, and thinks it's safe to say that the damage from Germany's recent fall, combined with the damage from his first tumble, as well as the fact that his rifle is lying broken near the dead cow, makes it safe to assume that Germany will be keeping his distance, for today at least.

"You tell that bastard you work for that I'm ending this," America calls after Germany. His voice is still scary-calm. "You tell him that America has joined the fight, so you sons of bitches better say your prayers. And _you_ . . . if you _ever_ touch England again, _I will KILL you!_"

And all England can do is stare.

Normal America would have gotten around to the shouting a whole lot earlier, and would have kept on shouting over-the-top threats for no other reason than to hear himself talk, but Scary-Calm America leaves it at one threat issued at the ear splitting level then turns toward England. Something changes in his expression and suddenly he's running toward him, skidding to a stop at his side and dropping down in the mud beside him.

_America . . . _ England wants to say something but can't. All words die before they even get to his throat. He's struck with a sudden urge to throw himself at the other nation and sob like a child. And wouldn't that make everything come full circle perfectly? Him crying like a child to the nation he'd raised from infancy.

"We should go. Can you stand?" America asks. He frowns noting the state that England is in, and strips off his bomber jacket and wraps it around England's shoulders. "Jesus, England, you're half frozen. Come on, we gotta get you out of the cold."

His grip on England is firm and reassuring. Warm too. Like sunshine spreading through his veins even though the rain is still falling all around them. And if England's crying, well there's no way anyone can possible tell because of all the water running down his face anyway.

"You're here," he says hoarsely. He still can't believe it, but somehow saying it makes it seem more true.

"Yeah. I'm here. Like I'd let you do this alone." America smiles and stands up and extends a hand down to England. "Come on. Let's go home."

England takes America's hand and allows the other nation to pull him up out of the mud. When he stumbles, America is there to catch him, and they end up with their arms wrapped around each other, like they're brothers again. Or like they never stopped being brothers.

"Yes," England agrees, burying his face in America's shoulder. "Let's go home."

Author's Note

This was inspired by a British veteran who was a guest speaker for my history class. He was a really inspiring speaker and told us the story about how desperate things were getting for England and the rest of the UK , how they were losing and watching their world fall apart and no matter how hard they fought it never seemed to be enough, but then how when they got the news that America was joining the war they had hope for the first time in a long time, so much that all the soldiers in the camp started celebrating and singing and dancing and yelling because they just _knew_ then that everything was going to be okay. In other words . . . America's the hero! lol His story got me thinking about Hetalia again and this is what came of it. I wrote this when I should be studying instead for exams lol.

Happy (late) Memorial day everyone!

Epic-logue

"We are going to win this war because we have the best men!" America was shouting when England entered the conference room. "My plan is to genetically engineer a superhero who will personally escort Adolph Hitler to the gates of hell! Gentlemen of the Allied Powers, I give you _Captain America!"_

With a flourish America pulled aside a curtain draped across the conference room's blackboard to reveal his master plan.

At first all the rest of the Allies could do was gape at the on the fly sketches that America had done in red *cough, pink, cough*, white, and blue chalk, that took up the entire board.

Then England face palmed and tried to remember just why they'd let America join their alliance again.

"What? Come on guys, this idea is totally epic!"

"It'll never work you git," England told him, but he knew full well his words would fall on deaf ears.

"Oh yeah, wanna bet?"

The end for real this time. Sorry, I couldn't resist. I'm really going to go study now. Lol


End file.
